


i need an engine that runs

by craftingdead



Series: charlie will make cd a common tag if it kills them [27]
Category: The Crafting Dead
Genre: Child Neglect, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Minor Character Death, Swearing, less than appropriate things said by teenagers, more implied/referenced too but that doesnt have a tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-18 21:40:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19343185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/craftingdead/pseuds/craftingdead
Summary: His father took a step forward. “It is not up to you whether or not you want to go into the military. You’re going. And that’s final.”“Okay,” AK said, then walked out the door.





	i need an engine that runs

**Author's Note:**

> mabu - pup

“You’re going into the military,” his dad said the moment he walked through the door with his mom, graduation finished.

“Honey,” his mom said, face dropping, “w-we talked about this, he should get a choice. He should get to choose whether or not he wishes to go into the military—”

“I’m doing fucking what?” AK pushed back his mom to look his dad right in the eye; now that AK was 18, they were about the same height, but he wouldn’t be surprised if he gained an inch or two on his father in the coming months.

“You’re going into the military, and that’s final,” his dad responded, voice firm. “I decided that it would be a good opportunity for you. You are too cooped up in this home, in this town, and I decided that it would be better for you to skip out on everything and instead make yourself useful fighting for this country. We sure as hell need more people working in the force.”

AK shook his head. “Nah. I don’t  _ want  _ to go into the military,  _ Dad.” _ He added on a switch at “Dad,” hoping it would get his point across. He never called his, well, dad, Dad anymore. Just his name or “Father,” if he wished to be condescending.

“Honey, please—”

His father took a step forward. “It is not up to you whether or not you want to go into the military. You’re going. And that’s final.”

“Okay,” AK said, then walked out the door.

* * *

He didn’t know where he was going, but just knew he needed to get away for a bit while his dad stewed in his anger. Fucking idiot, approaching him like that and attempting to sound all “authority-like” and “blah blah I am your father you must do what I want you to.” AK smirked to himself. He had gotten the old man wrapped around his finger—as much childhood disappointment it took.

A flickering motel approached through the windshield. He pulled off to the side and into its parking lot, parking across two spots and slightly out into the main road like an asshole. He had money, he had shit he needed, so he would just stay here until it seemed like his choices were his own again.

“What’s the longest I can stay here?” The person at the front desk didn’t even flinch; a teenager younger than him. She just popped her gum and put down her magazine, fixing him with a dull stare.

“How much are you willing to pay?” she said, and for once, he was glad of his mother’s money, and his ability to steal shit from his father’s “going back to school” collection he kept on his side table, never checked, and only put stuff in there when his wife begged him to.

“What—the average for places around here is thirty-five, forty a night?” She didn’t respond, just kept chewing her gum. AK gulped. “I’ll do fifty a night for a week—that’s seven days. Fifty times seven equals three hundred and fifty. Is that good enough for you, or do I have to amp it up ten dollars. I am willing to do that as well.”

“Three-fifty’s good!” she said cheerfully, holding out her hand. “Card or cash? We take both. We also encourage tipping the people at the front desk and not telling said person at the front desk’s manager about not properly communicating with customers.”

He wrestled his credit card out from his pocket and held it out to her. She swiped it through a thing connected to a computer, or something, then handed it back to him. Along with it came a small key. “Here’s your key, sir,” she said, deadpan and droning like it was required—and it probably was. “Your room is thirty-two, first floor. If you lose your key, we have extras at the front desk. More than one extra key costs you an extra thirty dollars to replace it. We also have a breakfast and brunch deal in our restaurant—paying customers get to eat free for both breakfast and lunch. We do not serve dinner, although you may stop in and grab yourself a snack if you see fit. Have a good night, sir.” He was off before she could get in the last “sir.”

When he arrived at his room, there were several voicemails on his phone; most from his mom, one or two from kids he knew from high school inviting him to come over for a “graduation party” or “senior going away party.” Didn’t seem too excited to be inviting him, though, so he just deleted those ones off his phone.

“Uh, honey?” His mom’s voice came through his phone crackling and low-quality. “I apologize for your father’s behavior. He isn’t thinking straight at the moment. Come back home and we can get all of this figured out. Please call me back!”

AK deleted all his messages and threw himself onto the bad motel bed. It had an oddly shaped stain on it that he didn’t want to bother with, so he threw the sheets over it and tucked them into the side of the bed and decided the comforter would be enough for a week.

There were a few other stains and weird marks and smells across the room. He didn’t want to look at the bathroom just yet. He supposed that the girl gave him a shit room because he didn’t tip her, but all of the rooms might just be like this. Hell, AK didn’t even know what motel he pulled up to. He should check that out and the surrounding areas in the morning.

His phone buzzed with a call. Another one from his mother. He listened for a bit, heard the first dings of voicemail come through, then shut it up, along with blocking his mother’s number so he wouldn’t have to deal with calls and texts.

The girl said they served snacks down at the “restaurant” they had. Maybe he could go get something to eat while he thought of what he was going to do with his one week of freedom.

* * *

“Do they serve late night shit?” AK asked the girl, not bothering to censor his language. She was, what, fifteen? She could deal with it.

She glanced up from her magazine—wait, no, this time it was a different magazine. Behind her, tucked underneath a desk in a stack, he could see many magazines. She must be one of the only people working here. “Yes, we do, sir. We serve all night, as it is self-serve, for the most part. Although, our selection is mild.”

“Thanks, Robo-Girl. Do they make you memorize that before every shift starts?”

She glowered at him, and AK felt grim satisfaction as she pointed wordlessly to a gap between two halls leading to rows of rooms.

Their selection, as it turned out, was mostly breakfast food. AK poured himself froot loops, drowned them in milk, and ate them with a tiny plastic spoon, then once that was empty he went back for seconds, that time chewing as loudly as possible. The third time around, the girl lowered her magazine and said, as loudly as possible, “Hey, have you seen the shitty conditions they put the cows in around here? Aren’t the most ethical in the way they produce dairy products. You’re probably not just drinking milk, but also blood and pus from the cow’s udders. Imagine that. Yummy, scrumptious blood from abused cow udders.”

AK, as if trying to prove a point, tilted his bowl up and chugged the rest of the milk left in it. Once he was done, he made an overexaggerated expression of contentment, and then said, “Did you know that milk only became a regular thing to drink because the military had too much of it made around the time of world war one?”

“Sure they did.” She flipped a page. “Hey, if we’re spouting aimless facts—and whatever the hell it was that you just said—then why don’t you tell me why someone looking like  _ you  _ is hanging around here. Is it a drug deal? You can tell me if it’s a drug deal, there are no cameras around here.”

“You got me, kid, I get mad stacks out of selling weed to minors.”

She whistled. “Damn. Now I might need to call the police on you since it’s kinda unethical to sell weed to minors. Might need to just beat your ass for that one. Now, tell me, what’s the real reason you’re out here?”

“My dad wants me to go into the military. I told him to fuck off then drove off. Mostly as a power move. I want to go into the military, but fuck my dad, so I’m going to wait until he’s extra pissed at me and decides against me going into the military and then decide to go into the military of my own will. Stick it to the old man.”

“Oh, Jesus,” she said. “Your dad sounds like a fun guy. I just live with my mom, because my dad’s a deadbeat asshole. He once tried to call me on my birthday, had the voice of a Scottish porno artist—not that I would know what a Scottish porno artist would sound like, that’s just what my friend told me when he heard the voicemail. I should probably question him about how he knew what a Scottish porno artist sounded like.”

“Your friend straight?”

“Yeah?”

“If he knows what a Scottish porno artist sounds like, he’s not anymore. I had a friend. Well, used to. He took one look at those Scottish porno artists and never came back. Unfortunately, I had to put him down, which meant I called his mom and told her I found Scottish pornography on his school google drive account. Such a shame. It did confirm that the school never fucking checked our accounts, though.”

She put her magazine down, leaning up and spreading her fingers across the desk with a confused furrow to her brow. “You’re fucking with me, right?”

AK raised an eyebrow as he went back for his fifth helping of froot loops and unethical bloody and pus-filled milk. “Am I? You’ll never know.”

“Shut the fuck up. The restaurant is closed now. Get the fuck out of my sight.”

* * *

AK squinted as bright light filled his room. It had been two days since he arrived, and no one had come after him. Thank god, that would be annoying, and it was fun pissing off the little girl at the front counter.

He groaned, rolled out of bed and let out an “oomph” as he actually rolled off the bed and onto the hard floor. It was carpeted, supposedly, but still felt as dense as fuckin’ concrete. He wasn’t sure if the “wood” walls were wood either. Might look it up later, if he was really feeling it, but right now he wasn’t. He had an objective: and that was doing the same damn thing he had been doing for the past few days; pissing off the girl in the lobby and playing shitty offline games on his phone until his eyes crossed.

Brushing his teeth was also something he probably needed to do.

For the first time in days, AK risked the bathroom, squinting at it through spread fingers covering his face. And sighing in relief as nothing looked out of the ordinary. Then screaming as, out of nowhere, a giant wolf spider came flying at his face and shutting the door so hard he felt the entire room shake and a lamp fall off the wall, shattering on the ground.

“God fucking dammit,” AK said, and decided that he wouldn’t man up and report it, and instead leave the glass there and leave the next person who sleeps here deal with it. He decided to go eat breakfast instead of brushing his teeth.

But when he got down to the front desk, the girl wasn’t there, much to his disappointment. AK got his cereal and ate in silence, playing 2048 on his phone and attempting to get his high score from the high twenty-thousands to at least thirty-thousand as he went back for a second, then third, then fifth, because god fucking damn was those stupid ass fucking froot loops delicious. Addictive, almost. Some of the other residents gave him weird looks and he gave weirder ones right back.

Right as he was considering going upstairs and facing that fucking wolf spider in the bathroom, the doors slid open and he turned his head to see front desk girl—now with hot pink hair, matching the color of the bubble she was popping. 

Then he burst out laughing.

“What?” she called out crossly, stacking a few new magazines on top of her pile and hopping up onto her chair.

“You look like the embodiment of bad bubblegum shit they put into your mouth when going to the dentist,” he said, hands on his knees, wheezing.

“I hate your metaphors and I hate you!” she screamed at him, before slumping back in her chair and grabbing one of her new magazines.

“I should get you fired for that kind of language!” he called back to her, crossing his arms and tapping his foot as he regained his composure. “Where’s your manager, I want to talk to them. This is outrageous. And your hair color is distracting to me and other patrons. Can I talk to someone?”

“The person you can talk to is your mom but I don’t think she would be able to respond—she was too busy giving herself throat pain from deepthroating these fucking nuts!” the girl hollered back, right as a nice looking elderly couple walked into the lobby. “Oh, hello, sir and ma’am. How may I help you right now?” She said, hastily putting away her magazine and shooting him a scathing glare from the corner of her eye.

* * *

On the fifth day, he stopped at a convenience store and bought himself beer with a fake I.D. he had crafted carefully months earlier. The man at the front didn’t even bat an eye; AK already looked like he was over twenty-one, with unshaven stubble and disheveled hair and sweaty tank-tops. Front desk girl always liked to say that he looked like he lived in his mom's basement.

“Aren’t you underage?” she said as he walked in with the beers tucked underneath his arm.

“What are you, a fucking cop? Back off.”

“You’re the bootlicker, Mr. ‘I’m-going-into-the-military,” she yelled back as AK walked to his room and flipped her the bird over his shoulder.

He threw his hard-earned fake-I.D. beers onto his bed, half expecting one to burst open and stain through the entire thing, and groaned in annoyance when it didn’t. AK wanted something to spice up his routine. He was in that stage where he was considering-considering texting his mom about how things had been doing. But that would lead to tons of other things, and he wasn’t up for that shit, so he didn’t bother.

Now it was time to deal with the fucking wolf spider. He could give less of a shit about brushing his teeth or showering but front desk girl actually threatened to call her manager on him if he came down again without a shower.

“Please just put on some deodorant, or something, anything!” She screwed up her face and plugged her nose, fanning her face.

“Deodorant is propaganda. It doesn’t help anyone, just makes people think highly of you. Placebo, even. No one smells better, but they think because they wear it, they do,” he said as he passed her.

“Literally shut the fuck up and never talk to me again.”

* * *

On the seventh day, he left early. Really early. Five AM early.

Front desk girl was, unsurprisingly, at the front desk. She looked at him with tired eyes as he approached her with his key. “It’s been a week? Swore it had been a lifetime dealing with your shit,” she said drowsily as she took it and hung it up on a wall of other keys behind her.

“Why the hell are you up at this hour?” he asked.

“Why the hell are  _ you  _ up at this hour?” she shot back, doing something on her computer that sounded annoying and complicated. “You’re signed out, now. You can leave. Actually, you legally have to leave now, or I gotta call security on you.”

“You guys have security?”

“We do, and it’s me and the baseball back I found in the back. Now, shoo”—she made shooing motions with her hands—”I never want to see you again, ever again in my life. Please, just set me free from the fucking misery of having to deal with you nearly twenty-four seven and instead become a military bootlicker who thinks he should get a free pass at fast food joints because he killed people and called it ‘fighting for his freedom.’”

“I broke a lamp, and there’s a big ass wolf spider in the bathroom of the room you put me in. Didn’t bother clearing it out, I got lazy,” he said, then walked out the door just as the beginning of her screech reached his ears.

He got in his car, with the single bag of shit he brought with him, and plugged his address into his phone, not bothering to look at the name of the motel as he pulled out of the parking lot and drove home.

* * *

AK parked his car on the street down from Omar’s house, threw himself out the door and sprinted up towards where he could see him walking down the street. Just before he made impact, a voice in his head said, “Hey, wait, isn’t this kind of fucking stupid?” but he metaphorically and spiritually flipped off that voice in his head and instead nearly barreled his friend over.

Omar let out a yell, dropping his phone to the ground. “Woah!” he said, as he finally regained balance and looked AK in the eye. “Oh, hey, man! Where the hell have you been for the past week? You haven’t been responding to any of my calls or texts. I’ve had to hang out with Johnny. Fucking Johnny! Heh, love that dude.”

“My dad enlisted me in the military,” AK spat, feigning anger. Omar’s face dropped.

He felt just slightly bad for lying to his friend—but it wasn’t technically lying, was it? His dad did enlist him in the military, so technically, he was telling the truth. He just wasn’t telling the entire truth.

“Oh, fuck,” Omar said, reaching out and putting his hands on AK’s shoulders in a comforting manner. “I’m sorry, dude, you probably had things you wanted to do.” AK nodded, even though he had no such thing. “Do you want to come inside and cool down for a bit? I bet my dad would be willing to make you something to eat.”

AK shook his head. “No. I need to go confront my old man.” Then he turned on his heel and walked off, Omar muttering something about “you could’ve at least said ‘thanks’ for the offer” behind him.

* * *

“I’m enlisting in the military!” AK announced as he walked in the door. His dad didn’t even look up. His mom smiled in relief, but her face fell as he announced his plans.

“Are—are you sure you wish to do this, honey?” she said, walking up and cupping his face in her hands. “Oh, my sweet boy—you’re so grown-up now. Are you sure you want to enlist? Are there any other reasons you would want to join? Any… any outside influences?”

“No. I just want to do this.”

“Good riddance.” His father snorted. “At least we’ll have you out of the house, finally. Other than when you went on your little tantrums and stormed off for a week or two. Well then, son, make us proud with your decision, won’t ya?”

“Whatever,” AK said and walked up to his room.

* * *

Seaport was something his father asked him to do—with him, the old man, mind you. He brought up how he had old family there—some cousins living over there, and how the change of scenery might do AK good. He had been trying to best to patch up their relationship, as tattered as it may be, and even though AK appreciated the efforts he still hated the old man with everything he had.

“Sure,” AK still said, because Seaport sounded like it would be miserable and gloomy and somewhere people wouldn’t recognize him and apologize for what happened to his mom. He no longer cared at this point—he was numb instead, Just wanted people to stop bringing it up.

He was to stay with two family members, and their adoptive son, Jordan. The kid would be fucking annoying to deal with, he bet to himself, but it was made slightly more bearable when his dad brought up how Omar had moved there the month earlier. Their whole family was planning on moving in a few months, but Omar wanted to get there early and scope out the place. 

The first day there, he was almost barreled over by this scrawny teenage girl with red hair who cussed him out when he yelled at her for it. Got horrible deja vu towards front lobby girl. Screamed in his car for an hour when it broke down. Got to his family’s place safe and sound.

* * *

When you really think about it, it truly comes down to you and some other person. Whether or not you know them really begs the question, whatever question it would be. The apocalypse was fuckin’ upon him and he had a gun stashed underneath his bed and learned to kill those shell of human beings without mercy while Omar still struggled and hesitated.

Omar was the loose chain. The weak link. And AK was hungry, and he was weak, and both of them were weak in their own ways.

In the coming years, he never felt remorse. He did what he had to do. And Omar would’ve done the same. Still felt disgust towards Red, since—since that was different because Red had a choice and he didn’t. Still. He didn’t tell his friends what he did.

He killed a zombie girl with hot pink hair and tried not to think about the past, because that damn thing just gets you down.


End file.
